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THE EMERALD ISLE 



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The Emerald Isl 

IN POETRY AND PICTURES 






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BY 



HENRY S. CULVER 



$RISTOPj(Eft 

.PUBLISHING 
HOUSE. 



BOSTON 


















Copyright ig20 
By The Christopher Publishing House 










AUG 28 1920 



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EXPLANATORY 

This little book with its pictures and in- 
terpretive verses is published with the hope 
that those who peruse its pages may have at 
least a glimpse of those scenes and characters 
which make the Emerald Isle so interesting 
to the world, and so beloved by her sons and 
daughters everywhere. 



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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2011 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 






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http://www.archive.org/details/emeraldisleinpoeOOculv 






CONTENTS 









Ode to Ireland 9 

queenstown 11 

Dundanion Castle 13 

connemara 15 

The City of Cork 17 

The River Lee 19 

Cromwell's Bridge 21 

The Marina Way 23 

Grab-all-Bay 25 

The Ruins 27 

Sir Walter Raleigh 29 

The Round Tower 31 

Muckross Abbey . . . .• 33 

Legend of the Two Towers 35 

The Shamrock 37 

Blarney 39 

The Fastnet Rock 41 

The Jingle 43 

Dan'l O'Connell 45 

The Donkey 47 

Guarding the Chicks 49 

Gathering Sea Weed 51 

The Pig and the Children 53 

My Irish Colleen 55 

Retired From Service 57 

Evening 59 

Taking Their Pictures - 61 

Scolding the Pigs 63 

The Green Isle 65 

Kate Kearney 67 

Paddy's Market 69 

The Sailor's Home 71 

A Rale Irishman 73 

The Dreadnought 75 

The Jaunting Car 77 

The Irish Farmer 79 






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Waiting 81 

Racing 83 

Sing to Me, Robin 85 

The Kurnel 87 

The Sunset Land 89 

Going to Market 91 

The Legend of Lough Bray 93 

The Blind Fiddler 95 

The Silvery Bay 97 

The Evicted Tenant 99 

Welcome, O Waves! 101 

The Street Cobbler 1 03 

By the Sea 1 05 

The Blue Flame Turf 1 07 

Meeting of the Waters 1 09 

At the Shrine Ill 

The Tenant 113 

KlLLARNEY 115 

The Village 117 

The Old Spinning Wheel 119 

Going to Mass 121 

Holy Well of Aghada 1 23 

Life and the Tomb 1 25 

The Irish Emigrant 127 









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ODE TO IRELAND 



HEN ye rose from the sea, Oh Erin 
A gift from God's own hand, 
To be the crowning glory 
Of all created land; 
And ye met the first day's dawning, 
With thy gorgeous hills aglow, 
There was ecstasy in heaven 

O'er the new world here below. 
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And that ye, supreme creation, 

Might forever be earth's queen 
Ye were decked in purple heather, 

And crowned with shamrock green 
Till the beauty of thy mountains 

Thy vales and glens among, 
Are the themes of rarest sweetness 

In earth's poesy and song. 

While to guard thy sacred portals, 

And stay time's ruthless hand, 
Ye were given sturdy warders 

To inherit thy fair land; 
Men exalted, honoring ever 

On the earth thy cherished name, 
Adding glory to thy beauty, 

Adding luster to thy fame. 



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QUEENSTOWN 



AIR city by the Lee, 

Thy terraced houses gracefully 
Adorn with vari-colored hues 
The granite hills thou'rt built upon; 
And when at early morn the sun 
Doth touch thy tints with burning gold, 
Thy Oriental splendor is supreme. 
Thy whitening ways hedged in by walls 
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Of ivy green, that winding, crawl 
From quay to loftiest summit, 
But bind thy many sundered hills 
In common mass of pleasing beauty. 
The stranger at thy gate looks in 
With admiration on thy charms. 
The sun and air and sky temper 
Their moods to gratify thy pride 
While lured by shady grove and park, 
And gardens in perpetual bloom; 
Cathedral tower and battlements 
Of stone, that face thy boldest cliffs,. 
The sea, the mighty amorous sea, 
Leaps boldly through thy harbor's mouth 
To kiss thy guarded waiting shore. 















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DUNDANION CASTLE 



ELL may ye hide your prison bars 
Beneath the living ivy green, 
Well may ye perish thus disguised, 
Your frightful dungeon cells 
unseen. 

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This be your end for deeds of shame, 
For pleas of justice oft denied 

Where innocence in galling chains 

Languished, unheard, in terror, died. 

Full soon your craven form must pass, 

The leaves that hide you soon must die, 

Naught will e'er mark your resting place — 
In dust and ashes will ye lie. 




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CONNEM ARA 



HERE'S a cottage 'mong the hills of 
Connemara, 
Where I left my dark-eyed sweet- 
heart long ago: 
I kissed her there good bye, the love-light in 

her eye, 
While she whispered, "Oh, I love you so, love 
you so." 
While she whispered, "Oh, I love you so." 

15 




There's a grave among the hills of Conne- 

mara, 
Where my sweetheart 'neath the hawthorn lies 

so low; 
My heart is buried there in the grave beside 

my fair, 
While she whispers, "Oh, I love you so, love 

you so." 
While she whispers, "Oh, I love you so." 



I mourn for her who sleeps in Connemara, 
Tho' I see her angel face wher'er I go; 
I am waiting for the hour we'll be together, 
And she'll whisper, "Oh, I love you so, love 
you so." 
And she'll whisper, "Oh, I love you so." 






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THE CITY OF CORK 



N MARSH-LAND, where the river Lee 
Now in thy lap pours wealth of 

From distant lands far o'er the 

sea, 
St. Finbar thy foundations laid. 

Where now thy teeming thousands run, 
And stand thy busy marts of trade, 
The sons of Ebric were undone, 
And Conn unsheathed his trusty blade. 
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The pagan Kings on parapegm 
Proclaimed thy laws, unknowing God, 
Before the Babe in Bethlehem 
The troubled ways of life had trod. 

Ye had, for full a thousand years, 

Oh, ancient city by the Lee 

Stood trembling 'twixt thy hopes and fears, 

Before Columbus sailed the sea. 

And yet ye stand, unrivaled still, 
Proud of an honored ancient name, 
And brave undaunted Ireland will 
Forever guard thy well earned fame. 








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THE RIVER LEE 



RAND in song and ancient story 

Are the Shannon and the Dee, 
But grander in pristine glory- 
Art thou, Oh beautiful Lee. 



Old thou art, Oh silent River, 

Years their weight have on thee prest, 
Thou hast seen the bow and quiver 

Of the wild tribes on thy breast. 
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Yet thou art to eye enchanting 

As ye flow through fields of gold, 

Ever on our hearts implanting 
Scenes our memories unfold. 

Be thou then majestic River, 

What through ages thou hast been, 
Grand, imperious, silent, ever 

Ireland's glory to defend. 






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CROMWELL'S BRIDGE 



'LENGARIFF'S hills are red with fire, 
The frantic people pray and 
moan, 
And swear eternal vengeance, 
sire, — 
And fly to yonder bridge of stone." 

"They seek to check our onward march, 
And gather with increasing force, 
E'en now uncapped is every arch 
To drive us from our southern course." 
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Thus spake an emissary brave, 

When Cromwell turned to him and said,. — 

"If thus the Irish clans behave, 

Some wily chief must lose his head." 

"Go tell the savage Irish horde, 
If thus, are royal troops delayed, 
Not one, but many by the sword 
Shall perish, go; nor be afraid." 

"Stay; tell them more, my orders are, 
They shall disperse and not delay, 
They must at once the bridge repair, 
And for our troops must clear the way." 

"Nay more; for every hour delayed, 
One Irish rebel shall be hung, 
And if again we are betrayed, 
The necks of twenty shall be wrung." 

At coming morn to martial view, 
A pleasing object met their sight, — 
There stood the bridge, all risen new, 
While Cromwell slumbered through the night. 









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THE MARINA WAY 



E STALWART trees that guard so 
well 
This grand majestic way, 

What of your duties, pray ye tell 
Why stand in such array? 
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Have ye been marshaled 'gainst the foe, 
The storm wind in its flight? 

If this your mission then we know 
Ye are victors by your might. 

But if ye stand to guard the way 

Where a maid but seeks her swain, 

Then all your grandeur fades in a day 
Your splendor is all in vain. 












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GRAB-ALL-BAY 



'N THE days when pirates roamed the 
seas 
Thy sheltering hills their plunder 
hid, 

And many a bark that touched thy shores 
But swelled the wealth of Captain Kidd. 

Could they but speak thy hills would tell 
A story of this murderous band, 
How babes were slain and women killed 
Who now lie buried in the sand. 
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And how they lured the flying sail 
On treacherous rocks that guard thy shore, 
There to enslave the hapless crew 
Whose ship would ride the seas no more. 






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THE RUINS 



f H, ANCIENT pile of dust and stone, 
Speak, tell the story of thy life; 
When were ye brought from 
quarry forth, 
To be a fortress in the strife? 

Unveil the past and picture those 

Who from thy casements watched the 
foe 
In stealth approach, with murd'rous hearts 
To slaughter them, and lay thee low. 
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Did royal king, or chieftain bold, 

E'er dwell within thy granite walls, 

Did ever music, song and mirth, 

Or laughter echo through thy halls? 






Speak, ancient pile, when glory full, 
Did'st render service to the State, 

Or did thou merely vaunt the pride 
Of some vain glorious potentate? 






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SIR WALTER RALEIGH 



HO HAVE achieved, we love them 
most, 
The truly great we love and all 
That touched their strenuous lives. 
The scene some master mind has stirred, 
Or martial hero looked upon, 
We cherish as a part of his 
Immortal self, but if perchance 
The habitation stands wherein he wrought, 
Wherein with kindred souls he lived, 
And from which poured his genius forth; 
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Tis hallowed ground, a holy place, 

And to our wondering waiting souls 

It speaks as though with very tongue 

Of him, who dwelt within its walls; 

So speaks this ancient house at Youghal, 

As he whom kings did honor spake: 

And as we tread its sacred halls 

That once took measure of his step, 

And read on manuscript and stone, 

The record of his full fraught years, 

And gaze within the curtained room 

Where Spencer's "Fairie Queen" had birth, 

We reckon not the lapse of time, 

But see in fancy still his form 

As when with mighty spirits 

Like his own, he walked the earth, 

A noble specimen of Man. 



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THE ROUND TOWER 



HAT anxious eyes have from thy case- 
ments glared, 
And into others, threatening, wildly 
stared? 

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What beating hearts have refuge found 

within, 
From savage foe, or yet more savage kin? 
What hopes, what fears within their bosoms 

stirred 
When sound of clashing sword and spear were 

heard? 
Thou answereth not mysterious shaft, 
But standeth mute, thy secrets holding fast; 
Nor hast thou through the prying centuries 
Disclosed thy vast, astounding mysteries. 
Ah well; while cold and silent yet, thou art, 
Thou still unconsciously must play a part, 
For standing 'twixt the years, now long since 

past, 
And those to be, thou must until the last 
Mark the long distance human feet have trod 
From savagery, to hope in Holy God. 












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MUCKROSS ABBEY 



HEN human structures crumble into 
dust, 
And earthly scenes of grandeur 
fade, and rust 
Consumes the enchanting art of ages past, 
And leaves a ravished hideous pile at last 
That must forever mar dame nature's realm, 
And her harmonious system overwhelm; 
Then comes the master architect sublime, 
And with a skillful practiced touch benign, 
Weaves the green ivy o'er the ruins old, 
33 



In most exquisite fashion, fold on fold, 
Until from out the ruined wastes arise 
A scene of beauty rarer than the skies; 
Quivering with life, as fresh as budding spring, 
The dull dead heap transformed to living 

thing; 
Surpassing all the works of human hand 
To decorate and beautify the land. 









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LEGEND OF THE TWO TOWERS 
With apologies to Samuel Lover 



WO TOWERS there are at Clonmac- 
noise, 
Once of equal size and poise, 
But now dismantled, overthrown 
Lies one a heap of granite stone 
The subject of my story; 
When selfish Bishop years ago, 
Who fond of earthly power and show, 
To save his certain overthrow 
Built here these towers for glory. 
35 










To save the priest and him defend 
The workmen hastened to the end, 
Nor asked for compensation till 
They'd anchored fast the topmost sill ; 
With what results ye may surmise, 
His lordship thought the price too h:gh, 
And sought to argue how and why 
A lesser sum would satisfy, 
Until at last his ire did rise. 






Then hastening from the dizzy height 

He soon did leave them in a plight, 

For when they followed to the ground 

No ladders in the tower they found ; 

A sad predicament indeed, 

And then to tantalize them sore 

He threatened, ranted, even swore 

And vowed that they should starve before 

He'd satisfy unrighteous greed. 

"Ye'll take what's offered," said the priest 
"Or else ye'll never feed or feast, 
So when your pride ye modify 
I'll choose to help ye from the sky 
And welcome ye to mother earth." 
At this his lordship went to pray, 
And Tim the fool passed by that way, 
"Ah well;" he shouted, "well-a-day, 
Here's chance for litt'e fun and mirth." 

"Ye're lookin' well up there," says he, 
"Like preaghauns sittin' in a tree." 
"Ye blackguard," shouted back the men, 
"Come back and help us down again 
Now, while his lordship's gone to pray." 
At that the foolish lad replied, 
"I'm thinkin' ye are fools servile 
For can't ye turn from off the pile, 
Three stones for one put on the while, 
Before, by cunning Bishop spied?" 

'Twas then the workmen with a will 

Uncapped the heavy topmost sill, 

And in their rage flung stone and mortar 

To the ground, in great disorder, 

The cunning Bishop to surprise. 

And long before his prayer was finished 

The lusty workmen had demolished 

All their labors had accomplished, 

And fled the place where now it lies. 

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THE SHAMROCK 



' E MAY take from dear Erin her wild 
purple heather, 
And the sweet blushing roses that 
bloom on the hill; 
Ye may rob the red fuchsias of beauty forever, 
Only leave the dear shamrock, she'll be 
Ireland still. 

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Ye may filch from her glens the fairest of 
flowers, 
And the hawthorn and laurel may ruth- 
lessly kill; 
Ye may veil from the sight her castles and 
towers, 
Only leave the dear shamrock, she'll be 
Ireland still. 

Ye may fade the green Ivy that creeps o'er 
the hedges, 
And so lovingly drinks from the mad 
rushing rill; 
Ye may plunder her velvety moss-covered 
ledges, 
Only leave the dear shamrock, she'll be 
Ireland still. 

Ye may drive from her shores the hearts that 
adore her, 
Even into her life alien blood may instill; 
But wherever her children, they'll ne'er cease 
to love her, 
And with the dear shamrock, she'll be 
Ireland still. 









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BLARNEY 



N HIS vestments of grey, 
All ragged at last, 
The spirit of Blarney lives; 

And concealed in his breast 
Is a marvelous past, 
The secrets of which he gives 
To those alone 
Who kiss the stone 
That he holds in his iron grasp. 
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A right clever sage is 

This spirit in grey; 
In spite of his vestments plain; 

For the pilgrims who stay, 

At his shrine, must pay, 
If to wisdom they would attain, 

And kiss the stone 

And thus atone, 
For wearing his vestments away. 



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THE FASTNET ROCK 



HOU bold unchanging mighty rock, 
Breasting the storm swept sea, 
Waiting the frightful ocean's 
shock, 
In silent majesty. 

Alone where the wild and savage tide, 

Lurks for his human prey, 
Ye stand in brave and martial pride, 

Holding his wrath at bay. 
41 




The while ye throw your dazzling light 
Far flashing o'er the sea, 

Dispelling the awful ocean night, 
And the heart's anxiety. 



So on the crowded ocean way, 

Ye guide the flying sail, 
While round thee, fearful thunders play, 

And the tempests loudly wail. 















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THE JINGLE 



KING may ride in his royal car 

Where only the gentry mingle, 
But the common folk may go as 
far 
In a fine old Irish Jingle. 



So here's to the jarvey and his car 

When clouds hang low and lowery, 

And he'll drive you swiftly near or far 
For half of your lady's dowery. 
43 



And here he waits for a half crown fare 
A shilling for one way single, 

But if you come back he'll charge ye mair 
For a ride in his one horse jingle. 



44 




DAN'L O'CONNELL 



S ONE who sees amid the clouded 
heavens, 
As through a mist, a dimly lighted 
star, 
So he, the chieftain of a valiant people 

A vision caught of freedom from afar. 




His flaming torch flung high that they might 
follow, 
He led them on to heights unknown and 
new, 

45 



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And there, though faint and weary with the 
struggle, 
They stood with him at last and caught 
the view. 

Caught the dim star that brighter grew and 
brighter 
As nearer to the light he led them on, 
Until at last the star lit up the kingdom, — 
The vanished kingdom that they thought 
had gone. 

And still that star is blazing in the heavens, 
The star of freedom that O'Connell saw, 

And Ireland, patient, brave, unconquered 
Ireland, 
Will yet rejoice in Freedom's holy law. 






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THE DONKEY 



REAMILY waiting beside the wall, 
Waiting the master's familiar call, 
Waiting for duty with eyes half 
closed, 

To love and faithfulness ever disposed. 
Putting the master, me thinks, to shame 
With many a virtue he dares not claim; 
If men were donkeys and donkeys men 
As far as some of their traits we ken 
The world would be better, yes saner be 
With less of haste and anxiety. 
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GUARDING THE CHICKS 



HEN without chicks leads a lonely 
life 
For she has but few friends on 
earth, 




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She's neither a widow, a maid, or wife 

And she's cross and crabbed from birth. 

She flies at the chickens of every brood 
And would surely kill them outright, 

Whenever she spies them eating their food 
Or seeking their shelter at night. 

So here I guard the dear little things 
While they eat a crust at my door, 

For I always know from the song she sings 
What the cannibal has in store. 



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GATHERING SEA WEED 



UT OF thy waters, O mystic sea, 
Ye build and build mysteriously, 
Homes on thy stones has the red sea 
weed, 
Where it lives and grows 

5! 





As the wild sea rose, 

That the hungry fields, it may nourish and 

feed 
While they in turn may bring forth food 
To feed the famishing human brood. 
So ye the fountain of life art then, 
Sating the hunger and thirst of men. 

O marvelous sea; 

What a mystery. 



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THE PIG AND THE CHILDREN 



ISTRESS Julia McCarty of Killnoch- 
magree 
Had a pig and some children who 
couldn't agree, 
The children were dirty, but the pig, she kept 

"clane," 
For a very good reason I soon will explain. 
She would wash Mister Piggy and brush his 

white hair 
And she'd leave the dear children alone in 
despair. 

53 






The baby McCarty who was just rising two 
Was so dirty his features were lost to the view; 
Well, one day a neighbor went over to call 
And seeing the children so dirty and all — 
She "aixed" Mistress McCarty to rise and 

explain 
Why the children were dirty and his pigship 

so "clane." 
"Well ye know, Mistress Johnson," said Mis- 
tress McCarty, 
"A full share of dirt is both healthy and hearty, 
So in raisin' the pig and the childer togither, 
I but follow the rule laid down by me mither; 
For she often remarked as together we'd sup, 
In nature there's always a true levelin' up, 
So I wash up the shoat to look clane and nate 
And I lave the dear childer in a dirtier state, 
For by this means you see the pig's more like a 

kid, 
And the childer look more like a pig than they 
did." 



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MY IRISH COLLEEN 



LUSHING her cheeks as the red rose 
of Erin, 
Graceful her form as the swift 
bounding deer, 
55 



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Eyes burning softly with love's tender passion, 
A voice like the thrush when morn doth 
appear. 
She is my Colleen, my sweet Irish Colleen, 
And no dearer sweetheart hath ever been 
seen. 

Oft o'er the mountain all purple with heather, 
We wander in search of the full sated 
kine, 
Nor weary the quest if moon-beams are shin- 
ing, 
Her soft hand lovingly resting in mine. 
She is my Colleen, my sweet Irish Colleen, 
And no dearer sweetheart hath ever been 
seen. 






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When in the gloaming I tell her I love her, 
And long for the day when she shall be 
mine, 
She whispers in accents of purest devotion, — 

"I love only you and pray to be thine." 
She is my Colleen, my sweet Irish Colleen, 
And no dearer sweetheart hath ever been 
seen. 












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RETIRED FROM SERVICE 



NLY a donkey, and nobody knows 
The kicks I've had and the cruel 
blows, 

And the loads I've pulled. 
And the trials I've had, 
Trying to make my master glad. 

So here I am all limpy and old 
Left to starve out here in the cold, 
No one to love me — 
Here then must I lie 
Forsaken, alone, perchance to die. 
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I think of the days of my youth now passed 
In shining harness polished and brassed, 
Such pride in me then 
Tho' they beat me sore, 
But this is the end, I'll soon be no more. 









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EVENING 



>H! SILENT peaceful time of rest; 

That hour when nature seeks 
repose, 
And doth so gently, softly close 
The golden curtains of the west, 
For sleep and rest. 



Thou art of all the hours the best, 
Inviting with a subtle spell 
59 




The sated herds with tinkling bell, 

To wend their way in silent quest 
Of home and rest. 



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Thy tranquil spirit ever blest, 

Beguiling to the sheltered bowers 

The song birds, where through danger hours, 
They find in safe accustomed nest 
Sweet sleep and rest. 

As thus thy moments we attest, 

So may our evening time of life 

Steal gently on, no fear, no strife, 
Until at last at God's behest 
We find sweet rest. 



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TAKING THEIR PICTURES 



ADDY look dacent if ye can, 

So folks will know it's you, 
Ye've no pride left, it seems to me, 
Don't move, he'll soon be 
through. 

61 




Oh, thank ye, Sor, God spare ye too; 

I'm glad the picture's took, — 
Ye see he's careless, Sor, and old, 

It's hard to make him look 
So the childer'll know it's him, Sor, 

They once knowecl like a book. 

It's many years they've left us, Sor, 

For lands far, far away; 
There's no one left, just me and dad, 

And we're not very gay. 
But then he moight be better, Sor, 

That's what I often say. 

How many? Oh, there's eight with Tim, 
The youngest don't ye know, 

But I wouldn't care so much. Sor, 
Only he's crippled so, 

And walks with a crutch like this, Sor, 
He went to live with Joe. 

Excuse me, Sor, it's awful hard, 

To think of Dad and me 
A-livin' alone till the judgment day, 

Before we'll ever see 
Each other again, the childer and us, 

Just as we used to be. 



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SCOLDING THE PIGS 



'E ROGUES: how ye scramble for pra- 
ties and milk, 
That's makin' your coats just as soft 
as rale silk; 
Ye're clane enough too, for the parlor indade, 
But I'm lost to account for your heathenish 

greed. 
Why don' ye be dacent and eat like your 

mither? 
Shure she's niver a minnets trouble or bother. 
I know ye belong to a new generation, 
63 



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But that's no excuse for such seeming starva- 
tion, 

When from mornin' till night I be tremblin' 
and quakin' 

For fear your poor bellies will be painin' and 
achin'. 

Ye're an ungrateful lot, shure I'd ne'er be a 

pig; 
I'm ashamed of ye quite, but plainly I twig 
Ye're expectin' the day when the rint comes 

around 
And ye'll go to the market a full hundred 

pound, 
And they'll cut off your heads that ye fight 

with so hard 
And by faith I'll be glad when ye're out of the 

yard. 









64 




THE GREEN ISLE 



] PHEAVED from the fathomless deep, 
Thy bosom wet with the sea; 
Nor aroused from thy ocean sleep, 
Till sun kissed, ye modestly 
Donned a mantle of green, 
That ye wear like a queen, 
Thou nymph of the Northern Sea. 

Begot in a far distant age. 

Nurtured by the fruitful tide, 
65 





Lost in mist when the mad storms rage, 
Still charming when they subside; 
In thy velvety green, 
That ye wear like a queen, 

Daughter of the loving sea. 



Favored one of the signal three, 

Rich in thy castles and towers, 
Thy rivers the Shannon and Lee, 

Thy fragrant rose crowned bowers, 
And the Shamrock so green 
Ye still wear like a queen, 
Brave heart of the world-wide sea. 






66 












._ __ . 



■^ 




:s 



:. 



KATE KEARNEY 



LD ENGLAND, and the rest of earth 
Have maids who never blarney, 
But of such beauties there's a 
dearth 
As Ireland's own Kate Kearney. 

E'en Scotland with her wealth of girls 
Must take a far off journey, 

For not within her realm are pearls 
As beauteous as Kate Kearney. 
67 




All lands have famous beauties rare 
Some poor and some with money, 

But none with Ireland can compare 
For she has dear Kate Kearney. 

So when you land on Erin's shore 
Go straight to Lake Killarney, 

And for earth's beauties seek no more 
For there you'll see Kate Kearney. 






; 



68 



-. 







PADDY'S MARKET 



EDLEY of sights, fury of sounds 
Mixture of all that on earth abounds, 
Short and tall, the hungry and fat, 
And still more mixtures after that; 
Cabbage and oranges, fish and tripe, 
Onions and pig's feet mixed with snipe, 
Lard and beeswax, honey and hake, 
Bloaters and beans, oysters and steak, 
Hardware and tinware, beer and bones. 
Eggs and butter mixed up with stones, 
69 




Ribbons and buttons, laths and nails, 
Raspberry jam wth tallow and snails, 
Codfish and pig's heads, flour and soap, 
Rashers and saurkraut mixed up with rope, 
And so never ending but always extending 
The mixtures you find at this market in Cork. 



70 



J 



;: 



: 




© 



THE SAILOR'S HOME 



E TELL of the land, the wooded land, 
The beauty of vale and glen, 
Wide stretches of meadow and 
ripening fields, 
The habitations of men. 

To me your woods are prison walls, 
Your valleys the dungeons gloom, 

Your crystal air from wind swept plains, 
The stifling breath of doom. 
71 




Mine is a home where the boundless deep 

Touches the far off sky, 
Where storm clouds kiss the wakening waves 

While onward they swiftly fly. 

The hills I love are the crested waves, 
Heaved by the mighty tide — 

I love the winds, the far blown winds 
By the salt spray purified. 

My home is vast, from the dawn of day 

It stretches to dawn again, 
No shore so distant but it may reach 

And your continents enchain. 

Do ye wonder then I love my home, 

The vast the billowy sea, 
The mighty realm where none but God 

Reigns through Eternity? 



11 









" 



-- - 

II 



fU 





A RALE IRISHMAN 



EY? plase speak a bit louder, 

Sure, Sor, no one is prouder 
Of being an Irishman true, 
Than I be meself, Sor, 
73 






h-^9 



For that were no lie, Sor, 
An' God bless ye'r honor, too. 

Just inside o' me shanty. 

There's praties in plenty, 

An' a drap o' the crater too; 

Step inside me door, Sor, 
An' hev but a smile, Sor, 

Ye'r welcome, ye'r honor, too. 

Oh yes, Sor; I'm ninety, 

But I f ale big an' moighty, 

An' niver a moment blue, 

With a drink o' the crater 
To aid mother nater, 

An' 'twill help ye'r honor, too. 



J 






74 








THE DREADNOUGHT 



RIM cruel monster of the sea, 
Creature of lowest savagery, 
Inspired by that arch fiend the devil 
To burden man with still more evil, 
In arrogance of power ye ride 
The foaming sea and restless tide, 
And when some weak and helpless state, 
Has of your power but felt the weight, 
And by your guns been terrified 
From claiming justice yet denied. 
Ye swell with vanity supreme, 
From stem to stern your pennant's stream, 
75 



And joined by others of your kind 
Ye seek what honors ye may find, 
Ye proudly boast your perfect art 
While men applaud, and praise the heart 
Whose blood your murd'rous decks yet stain, 
Or else still tortured writhes in pain. 
Oh! peace on earth, what mockery! 
When such crafts sail on every sea; 
When will the beast in man subside? 
When will the words of Christ abide? 



76 



': l SM 







THE JAUNTING CAR 



ROM Iceland to the southern seas, 
From east to west as distant far, 
No creature sweeps with pinions 
spread, 
So swiftly as the Jaunting Car. 

Up rugged steeps it flies aloft 
As if to some great sparkling star; 
One feels the earth receding fast 
When riding on a Jaunting Car. 
77 







It whirls through valleys, over hills 
With lightning speed without a jar, 
It never tires, it never stops, 
This flying Irish Jaunting Car. 

What use to man the aeroplane, 
Or anything that's sublunar- 
While there is such a thing on earth, 
As Ireland's famous Jaunting Car. 



78 




L- 1 



k r ". 



THE IRISH FARMER 



ING we the song of the verdant soil, 
The fallow fields and green, 
The honest labor that dignifies 
toil, 
And the primal life serene. 

Sing we the songs of harmonies grand, 
The blending of myriad throats, 

The rippling stream over pebbly sand, 
The torrents ponderous notes. 
79 




The plowman's song and the lowing herds, 
The laughter of childish glee, 

The crowing of cocks, the singing birds 
In the tree-tops, glad and free. 

All, all in a happy loud acclaim, 

Mingle their voices of love. 
The music swells in a glad refrain 

To the courts of heaven above. 












WAITING 



HEN ye go for the cows at e'en, Katy, 
Wait for me down by the stile, 
And we'll drive them home to- 
gether, lassie, 
By the safest longest mile. 
81 



i 



m 



And if they think ye've been o'er long, Katy, 

Oh; tell them never a lie, 
But say ye were helping a calf, lassie, 

Along the hedge hard by. 

And when at the top of the hill, Katy, 
We see your house in the glen, 

I'll go back the lane through the woods, lassie, 
Then we'll drive the cows again. 



r :C 









. 



82 







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RACING 



if HERE'S life and speed in the iron 
steed, 
As he roars and thunders along, 
There's woe and weal in the auto- 
mobile, 
As it swiftly glides with its song; 
But for real true racing 

And sport that is bracing, 
I'll take the gamey horse, 

Who with muscles of steel, 
And a soul that can feel, 

Flies over the race-track course. 
83 



V 






>', S'"' 



W' 










©8 




SING TO ME, ROBIN 



ING to me robin, thine own love song, 
I have been waiting the hours so 

long, 
Sing to me robin, the same sweet 
lays 
Ye sang to my heart in the golden days. 

Golden days, Golden days, 
Ye sang to my heart in the golden days. 

Sing to me robin, sweetly and low, 
Bring back the dreams of the years ago, 
85 



- 



Bring back the joy and comforting rest, 
Sing to me, sing from thine own love nest. 

Own love nest, Own love nest, 
Sing to me, sing from thine own love nest. 






; 

- - 









86 



■■ " ,■ . 



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w$ 










"THE KURNEL" 



'VE A good store of turf for the wintry 
weather, 
When the cold North winds blow and 
I sit by me hob; 
87 



Now bare are the oak trees and brown is the 

heather, 
Yet me comforts o'erflow when I smoke me 
old cob. 

If ever I think of me landlord and rent dues 

It is only to wish for a few extra bob; 

All the same I'm continted, readin' the weeks 

news, 
On each Sunday mornin' while smokin' me 

cob. 

I still now and then have a turn at the old reel, 
And it's often I go when at Ballydehob 
And swing Mrs. Murphy around like a fly- 
wheel, 
But me greatest of comforts is smokin' me cob. 

And so me days run from winter to summer, 
But whatever I do I am onto the job, 
I smile at misfortune, I've no cause to murmer 
If I have but a sixpence to fill me old cob. 



m } 



88 







THE SUNSET LAND 



UT OF this land at the close of day 

When sable shadows come 
creeping 
Over the waters so still and gray, 
To 'waken hosts that are sleeping. 



There bursts a vision of beauty rare, 

Flaming banners on mountains high, 

And crimson forests and valleys where 
Bright silv'ry mists go floating by. 
89 




Where is that beautiful land so fair, 
Reflecting such scenes of glory? 

Tell us, Oh! tell us ye wise men, where 
Is that land of ancient story? 












: - 



90 



:s: 



? : '\ 




" : - 



GOING TO MARKET 



HAT queer things one hears in the 
market be sure," 
Said plump Mistress Careb to 
me; 

"These dear city folk are so smart don't ye 
know, 
'Tis a sin to deceive them," said she. 




'-- 



"There's the magistrate's wife comes along 
and says she, 
'Your fowls appear old I must say;' 
Oh, not as ye'd notice says I wid a smile, 

They always be young where they lay." 
91 












"Then along comes the wife of the parson, 
says she, 
'How are eggs Mistress Careb, I pray?' 
Oh, very well thank you, Mistress Connor, 
says I, 
They've been fresh for many a day." 

"And here comes the priest, God bless you, 
says I, and says he, 

'Your butter smells strong in a way;' 
Do ye think so, says I, but how can that be? 

It was made on the last week day." 






m 










THE LEGEND OF LOUGH BRAY 



HERE'S a legend 'mong the people 

Who live near lone Lough Bray, 
That they tell in broken whispers, 
Lest the fearful secret may 
Renew the shocking orgies seen ; 

When Hugh McShane O'Bryne 
Led his clan of heartless robbers forth 

To kill and slay and burn. 
They tell how in those bloody days 
On many a darksome night, 
93 





: •■!■: ='.: 



A man and woman could be seen 

Far up the mountain height, 
Their torches waving in the storm 

As the genii wave their wand, 
In warning to the ones below 

'Gainst the wild and murd'rous band. 
And they tell how when the torches 

Of these Pookas lit the sky, 
The people of the plains below 

Would in greatest terror fly, 
And leave their homes and flocks and herds 

To the mercy of the band; 
Who then would rob them of their store, 

And devastate the land. 
At last there came a wilder storm 

Than the mountain glens had known, 
The winds blew fiercely on the cliff 

With hideous shriek and moan, 
The waters of the Lough below 

Were dashed into milk white spray, 
The mountains creaked and trembled 

In the direful awful fray; 
The while the Pookas danced and yelled 

And waved their torches high, 
Till caught by the whirling wind were borne 

To their spirit home in the sky. 
And those who dwell by the lonely Lough, 

Still tell a wondrous tale, 
Of how these sprites on darksome nights 

Yet ride in the tempests gale, 
And how by the vivid flash they see 

Their misty ghost-like forms, 
Still bear the flaming torches high 

On the breast of the raging storms. 









94 



mmmi 








THE BLIND FIDDLER 



E TELL of the fields all fresh and 
green, 
And the waving yellow corn, 
And depths of forest shade se- 
rene, 

95 



' , : '■ 



That this cherished land adorn; 
But rocks and the barren shores of the sea 
To my sightless eyes, are as dear to me. 

My vibrant strings are tuned ye see. 

To the fruitful fields and glens, 
To murm'ring streams and songs of glee, 

As well as the damp dark fens; 
So rocks and the barren shores of the sea. 
To my sightless eyes, are as dear to me. 

I catch the soul of harmony, 

That paints the myriad forms, 

The mountain sides and rolling sea, 
And wild tempestuous storms; 

So rocks and the barren shores of the sea, 

To my sightless eyes, are as dear to me. 







96 








THE SILVERY BAY 



ERE we are a-sailing, 

Sailing o'er the bay, 
Sailing to the primrose fields 
In the month of May. 



Oh the breath of Spring-time 
Sweet with perfumes rare, 

Golden are the gorse plumes, 
Meadows green and fair. 
97 



• 



Wild birds gayly singing 
In the shady bowers, 

Elder trees o'er hanging 

Rich with budding flowers. 

Joyfully we're sailing* 
Sailing on our way, 

To the shady hillsides 

Where the violets stay. 



':"■ 



: 



98 









m 



m 










THE EVICTED TENANT 



HEY'VE ta'en from us our home, dear 
Tom, 
It breaks me heart to go; 
'Twas here ye brought me first a 
bride, 

here we've labored so; 
But cheer up lad 
And don't be sad, 
ve the childer yet, ye know. 
99 




We can stop by yonder hedge, Tom, 

The childer's bed the heather, 
While the hawthorn boughs will shelter us 
This cold and stormy weather; 
So cheer up lad 
And don't be sad, 
We'll not forsake each other. 

There are other homes on earth, Tom, 

And gardens rich with flowers, 
A dear thatched house that's ivy crowned 
And sweetly scented bowers; 
So cheer up lad 
And don't be sad, 
Such home will yet be ours. 



, ; 






,■■_- 



Ye've heard them tell of the land, dear Tom, 

Where golden sun sets be, 
Where riches, wealth and happiness, 
Are the birth-right of the free; 
Then cheer up lad 
And don't be sad, 
There's a home for you and me. 



: 






100 






. " _ 







m 



m 






WELCOME O WAVES 



ELCOME, O waves of the ocean wide, 
Welcome your wild mad roar, 
Ye are a part of the self same tide 
That laves my native shore; 
And ye break at my feet, on this foreign 

strand, 
While I dream of that far away distant land 
I shall love forever more. 
101 







Roll on, O sea, earth's throbbing blood, 
And fling your salt spray o'er, 

Till I am drenched with the briny flood 
That has kissed my native shore; 

And bring on thy winds, in my own land born, 

The smell of the clover and ripening corn, 
The perfumes I adore. 



■'-''' 



O mighty sea; thy generous waves 

Seek every waiting shore, 
And the boundless life, thy bosom heaves, 

Spreads joy the wide world o'er; 
So I greet thee, O sea, on whatever strand, 
For ye bring me a message from my home- 
land, 

A message from mv Asthore. 












--:-■ 









102 






' 









- 







THE STREET COBBLER 



'M OLD and gray," said the cobbler, 
And he smiled an artless smile; 
"I'm thinkin' of riches and com- 
fort, 
And wond'ring if they're worth while." 

'I'm old and poor," said the cobbler, 

With a twinkle in his eye; 
'And wondering who'll say the masses 

When I shall come to die." 
103 







I 






"I am thirsty," said the cobbler, 
With a very thirsty grin ; 

"But you wouldn't have the price sir, 
For a little stout or gin?" 

"I'm thanking you," said the cobbler, 
As he wandered 'cross the way; 
"What matters now if poor or rich, 
Or masses any-way." 



■ 



i 



104 






& 



W 



■''- 



7 





BY THE SEA 



E SAT by the sea when our love was 
new, 
And whispered the words that no 
one could hear; 
For the sea was calm, and it whispered too 
As we breathed to each other love so dear. 
Life was the water, clear and fair, 
We, the boats that were anchored there. 

We sat by the sea when our love was worn, 
And talked of our trials and troubles and 

grief, 
While the sea by tempest and wind was torn, 
105 




And the mad waves roared on a rock built 
reef. 
Life was the water, rough and high, 
We, the boats that were drifting by. 

We sat by the sea when our love was old, 
And whispered again, but with hearts now 

sore, 
And the sea was placid, but dark and cold, 
The billows were gone, for the storm was o'er. 
Life was the water, deep and wide, 
We, the boats on the ebbing tide. 






: . 



"' 



106 









>>" 



I 




9 






THE BLUE FLAME TURF 



UILD ye a fire with the blue flame turf 
And drive the dread banshees 
away; 
Then dream as ye watch the curl- 
ing smoke 
And your dreams will come true some 
day. 

If ye dream of your sweetheart's lovely face 
So sweet with the red flame of life, 
107 




H 



, 



Ye will surely meet in a fortnight's time 
And ye'll ask her to be your wife. 

If ye dream of your lover's tender looks 
And ye hear him mutter a sigh 

Ye will meet another within a week 

And will bid the first one good bye. 

If ye dream of your wife's bewitching smile 
And between ye there's no word said, 

Ye'll fight next day like Kilkenny cats 
And be nursing a broken head. 



. 



108 



■., 




MEETING OF THE WATERS 



HERE the waters meet in the shadows 
And mingle their crystal flow, 
The stars in their virgin splendor 
Reflect their heavenly glow. 



And the moonbeams slyly creeping 

Through the thickly curtained bowers, 

Dance merrily on the waters 

In the stilly midnight hours. 
109 







What a joyous happy meeting, 
With these denizens afar, 

Each crystal drop of water 

Gayly kissing each bright star. 



mmMi^nm&m' 1 ' 



i§ 




IS 



; ^' 







AT THE SHRINE 



COME from crowded busy ways of 
life, 
Where saddened faces tell of 
sinfulness, 

Where galling tears and longing wistful eyes 
Betoken hearts bereft of happiness. 

Strength do I need to meet life's daily cares, 
And power divine to meet life's sorrow; 

Oh grant that here sufficient help I find, 
To fit me for each new tomorrow. 
Ill 




Oh, sacred place where lowly contrite hearts 
Their solace find from sin's pollution, 

I come, to thee and bend the suppliant knee, 
And at thy shrine seek absolution. 









THE TENANT 



E MAY talk about castles, landlords 
and sich, 
And those who have plenty of 
golden store; 
113 



,<..„ 



■ 



But give me a cabin with only a thatch 

And I'll be content beside me own door. 

What more has the lord than what's on his 
back, 

Considering the food he's able to buy; 
I meself I'm thinkin' am richer by far, 

I've peace of mind and a pig in the sty. 

Away with your money, titles and all, 

Go ride to the hounds until you are sore; 

For me 'tis enough to have me old pipe 

And find rich contentment at me own 
door. 



■a-;; 



114 






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KILLARNEY 



KNOW of a spot in Ireland 
That is very dear to me 
Tis the fairest in that fair land 
Tis the Lakes of Killarney. 



From my soul I send my greeting 
And in spirit I can see 

The crystal waters meeting 
At the Lakes of Killarney. 
115 



Mine eyes are dim with weeping 
When I think dear land of thee 

And that spot within thy keeping 
The fair Lakes of Killarney. 

Oh, I long for thee my home-land 
And I fain would cross the sea 

To forever live in Ireland 

By the Lakes of Killarney. 



116 

















THE VILLAGE 



IVE me the life in the village street, 
The neighborly friendly smile 
On the faces of those I chance to 
meet, 
For only such life is worth while. 



Envy and strife are absent there, 
Contentment and peace abide, 

For the spirit is free from worldly care 
And the hearts are true and tried. 
117 



-■.'■■-' 




THE OLD SPINNING WHEEL 



WHIRL the wheel as old time whirls 
me. 
Till we're both as wobbly as wobbly 
can be; 

Yet there is that, in life's troublous storm 
119 




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That makes me smile at the way we perform ; 

For when the yarn is but poorly spun, 

I blame the old wheel for the mischief done. 

And spitefully then it throws off the band, 

And pesters me so on every hand, 

That I just indignantly stop and say, — 

"You're old and stubborn, so have your own 

way." 
Then I leave it a while to ponder and rest, 
And think of the things that I strongly detest, 
But again I return to my endless task, 
To find the old wheel in a different mask; 
It spins and spins as it used to do, 
And we're both so happy, and over our stew, 
That I sing an old song, an old love rhyme, 
While the wheel hums merrily all the time 
And I want to hug it, and a secret tell ; 
In spite of its faults I love it well. 
And so we spin, we two together, 
Spinning the yarn for the wintry weather. 
Yet sometimes I smile to myself to see, 
How foolish old things, over nothing, can be. 



120 







ir 






^ 



GOING TO MASS 



IS A-TOP of the beast me Missus and 
me 
Ride over to mass every morn- 
in\ 

As proud as a Lord and a Lady could be, 
And the rest of the people a-scornin'. 







See me shape, and me stoile, with new knick- 
ers on, 
As straight as a peacock, begorra, 
And Missus behind with her new pillion 
Lookin' sweet as the rose of Aurora. 
121 



H 



/: 



-- ■■; 



The beast too, himself, is the envy of all, 
Ye'll not find his aquil in Kerry, 

He knows if we're goin' to church or a ball, 
By our bein' rale sober or merry. 

Ah, the King and the Queen have no better 
stoile 
Than the Murphys' who live in Killcown; 
Shure I'd not trade me place for the whole of 
his pile, 
Exceptin' he'd throw in his crown. 









3? 



■ : 






122 
















HI 



- 







HOLY WELL OF AGHADA 



ET ME drink thy living waters, 

Cheer me with thy cooling 
flood, 
Cleanse me, heal me, loving foun- 
tain, 

Be in me life's richest blood; 
For I come to thee believing, 
As I pray, I am receiving. 

Let me touch thy sacred waters, 
That again I may be whole, 
123 



&S0 

H 



m> 




I am broken, faint, disheartened, 

Heal my troubled doubting soul; 

For I come to thee believing, 
As I pray, I am receiving. 



Let me in thy healing waters, 

Lave my weary aching limb 

In thy sacred sparkling waters, 
Praying only unto Him 

Who hath said, "Have faith believing, 
As ye pray, ye are receiving." 






m 












124 








LIFE AND THE TOMB 



fO SOLEMN church-yards mark the 
end of all mankind, 
Is life a dream, an hour of toil and 
pain and bliss, 
Where at its close a narrow bed of earth we 

find, 
Where we may cherish evermore the farewell 
kiss? 

No; life is seed, the master sows and scatters 
wide; 

125 






i I 

1 



Some find the primal soil and some the stone 

and clod, 
Some perish, others gain the light and there 

abide 
And grow, still clutching earth until they are 

with God. 



The grave can never mark life's end nor its 

beginning, 
It but transforms the shapes that earth has 

given 
To those of more exalted state, when freed 

from sinning 
They find an entrance to the lofty courts of 

heaven. 






126 






(iB^\ Ww m Sm f^ 




W 
P 

B 



: 



THE IRISH EMIGRANT 



' AREWELL blessed land and farewell 
forever, 
No longer thy charms attract me 
to thee; 

The last of my name lies cold in thy bosom, 
The land of the west calls me over the 
sea. 




My land of the shamrock is owned by an alien, 
The waters are his and denied unto me; 
127 



- 



m 









Though I love thee dear Erin, the home of my 
fathers, 
The land of the west calls me over the 
sea. 

Thy rich fertile valleys, thy fields ripe and 
golden, 
Engraved on my heart their beauty shall 
be; 
They were mine as a child, yet ever another's; 
The land of the west calls me over the 
sea. 

I shall miss thy bold cliffs, thy mountains of 
heather, 
The sails wide-spread on the beautiful 
Lee; 
The bay of the fox-hounds, the horn of the 
hunter, 
But the land of the west calls me over 
the sea. 

'Tis there I at last shall meet my heart's long- 
ing, 
A spot of green earth unencumbered and 
free; 
A home, and Oh God; what that means to a 
tenant; 
The land of the west calls me over the 
sea. 












128 









.• 









■ ,:.,<■ ■■■■■-, ■:vu:K<&wvm 



